


When Life Hands You Lemons

by alyxpoe



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: First Kiss, Gen, M/M, Romance, men kissing, the traveling lemon makes a cameo appearance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 17:09:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1312675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyxpoe/pseuds/alyxpoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...make lemonade. </p><p>Or a recounting of Martin's and Douglas' first time and how they learn to talk about feelings without actually saying much at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Life Hands You Lemons

“Yes, ma’am, I assure you that I really _am_ the captain.”

Douglas can hear the strain in Martin’s voice from where he is hidden behind the slightly ajar door of the portakabin. On the other side of that door, Captain Crieff is clearly on the tail end of a rather nasty dressing down.

A dressing down he does not deserve but is shouldering anyway because that is just the kind of thing Martin does when he cares about people. Douglas knows Martin is taking all the responsibility without passing along any of the blame like other people would do.

“You nasty liar. I know you aren’t the captain, it’s that big man with the oily voice like some sort of posh salesman. Let me guess, he put you up to it, eh?”

The woman is practically screeching now, her high-pitched voice like nails on a chalkboard to Douglas, who has just about heard _enough_. Geez. What a bitch. It was just a harmless lemon. Who knew a citrus fruit could start such an epic meltdown?

“I assure you, ma’am that I am…I…”

Martin sputters and Douglas can practically _see_ the blush of frustration on the captain’s face as the younger man grapples for words. After a second there is a slapping sound then an indignant squawk from both Martin and the woman, the door slams open and Carolyn is none-too-gently frog marching their customer right down the three steps to the ground, her sensible shoes banging against the metal with each angry drop of her feet. Douglas gets out of the way just in time to avoid broken jaw as Carolyn’s shoulder passes underneath his chin.

“You. Don’t. Manhandle. My. Captain.” Carolyn huffs between her teeth as she leads/pushes the woman down the stairs.

Douglas has got to give credit where it’s due: the CEO of MJN is certainly one tough old bird; although he would never say that out loud, not in a million years. He watches for a few seconds longer, until the screaming woman is deposited in her car and then turns into the office.

Martin stands alone in the center of the room, head bowed, long fingers clutching his hat in front of his chest, staring at the toes of his neatly polished shoes: a ginger, crisply-uniformed Atlas with the weight of an always-close-to-broke airdot company on his shoulders. He continues to keep his head down until Douglas is standing directly in front of him; when he raises his head, however, Douglas is unprepared for the downright _broken_ look on his face. Martin’s expression is soft, wilted; his green eyes glassy from unshed tears.

Douglas feels something in the area of his heart break, just a little.

Not knowing what to do, really, Douglas gently tugs at Martin’s dark blue tie and straightens it up; he is unsure even at that proximity but since the captain doesn’t move or even look away, he takes it upon himself to straighten out the lapels of his uniform jacket, as well. If his hands linger for a moment on the gold bars on the arms, well, that could just be nostalgia; at least that what Douglas tries to tell himself.

After that, Martin uncomfortably attempts to sniff quietly so the older man turns away and allows him a little space; in reality he has to stop himself from putting his arms around the captain and holding him tight. The two men pretend that neither one of them is there for a little while until Douglas clears his throat.

“Martin, really, you didn’t have to take all the blame.” Douglas moves across the room to sit at the desk he never uses.

For a few seconds, Martin continues to stand there looking miserable then he tightens his lips into a straight line, frowns and sighs wearily. Douglas most emphatically _does not_ watch the captain sit down in the chair at his desk and promptly start sorting through the stack of paperwork there. The way his lean shoulders slump forward and the way he runs one hand through his mop of ginger curls from the top of his forehead to the nape of his neck forces Douglas to make up his mind.

“Come on, captain, you need a drink.” Douglas stops in front of Martin’s desk and leans in ever-so-closely, allowing his size to make him be the only thing the captain can see. He strides towards the door as Martin mumbles something that sounds amazingly like _you have no idea what I need_. It is soon forgotten as he opens the door to allow the captain to pass through it first.

On the way to Douglas’ car, Douglas tries to ignore the impulse to lay the palm of his hand against the small of Martin’s back. He manages to not open the car door, but only just. Something about the memory of the captain’s haggard expression makes Douglas desire to wrap him up and hold him close.

*

After a decent dinner and a drink that Douglas insisted on paying for, the first officer decides that the captain could do with a nightcap at his house. His intention is merely a nightcap only, and possibly offering Martin the guest bedroom since they both have to work tomorrow, it would be pointless to drive him back to his attic room when Douglas has a nearly empty one with a perfectly usable bed in it.

Martin is camped out on the end of the sofa, remote control in his hand and his eyes on the flipping pictures on the telly; even from the kitchen Douglas can tell that he is not paying any attention to what is on the screen because there is no way that anyone can watch that many channels at a time.

Douglas stops by the arm of the couch and offers Martin a cup of tea. Martin takes it gingerly with the barest flick of his eyes in Douglas’ direction.

“Thank you.” He says very quietly.

Douglas has just about had it with the silence: the captain has barely spoken a word all evening except to thank him or try and pay the bill at the restaurant. Knowing it is incredibly rude and ill-mannered before he does it Douglas pries the remote out of Martin’s hand and turns off the television. Martin looks up at him, brow furrowed so hard that it wrinkles over his nose but, finally, all of his attention is on Douglas, green eyes following him as he sits down in the chair closest to the sofa.

“Martin, would you please talk to me?” Part of him wants to scream because he _knows_ this conversation is going to involve _feelings_. He pushes that all down and sits on it; at almost fifty-five years old, he can have one mature conversation. It isn’t going to kill him.

Martin’s eyes move from Douglas’ face to the carpet at his feet. He opens his mouth and starts to say something, twice, before sighing and sitting back farther on the couch after toeing off his shoes. The captain manages to pull his legs underneath himself so that he is somehow only taking up a single cushion.

Douglas’ reptile brain is thoroughly impressed with the captain’s flexibility.

Douglas’ mature brain is disgusted by the reptile part.

Other parts of Douglas’ body start agreeing with the reptile brain.

Being the mature Sky God that he knows he is, Douglas fights to focus on Martin’s words rather than his mouth; after all, he is the one who coaxed Martin into talking to him.

“Douglas, did you even hear me?” Martin is asking. He has now wrapped his arms around himself as if to keep from falling.

Douglas has to regroup for a few seconds. Should he lie or tell the truth?

But which _truth_?

Of course, that soon becomes a rhetorical question because Martin must see the answer in Douglas’ eyes since the first officer’s lap is soon full of captain. A captain whose lips are as plush as they look and whose thin arms most certainly do not get enough appreciation because they are now firmly locked around Douglas’ shoulders and… oh my god...is that _tongue_?

Douglas leans back so that he can angle his hips upward and allows his mouth to be explored.

Exploring? Hell, Martin is fucking _taking_.

The svelte leather of the chair underneath them squeaks as they move tentatively together. When long fingers begin to knead at the nape of his neck, Douglas knows that whatever happens now is up to the captain and decides to follow wherever it is Martin is planning on leading.

Douglas has never in his entire life felt so _possessed_ by another person and it is absolutely amazing so wraps his arms around Martin’s slim waist. Unsure again how far to go, he lets his fingers hook into the space between Martin’s belt and trousers then lets the captain set the pace. When they come up for air, Douglas is mesmerized by the blush across Martin’s cheeks and the bridge of his nose, the heat of his muscular body and the intensity in his gaze.

The captain rocks gently on Douglas’ lap, causing the first officer to hiss from the heat and need for friction. If he was any less of a gentleman, he might actually consider pinning Martin to the spot; yet, somehow he knows that would never work here.

“Are you listening now?” Martin asks, his entire body hesitating only for a second.

Douglas’ head is actually spinning. “Indeed I am, Captain.” The words are pulled from his mouth as Martin leans in again, this time taking Douglas’ face in his hands, a wolf closing in for the kill. When he makes a low growly noise in the back of his throat, Douglas is seriously considering calling Carolyn and telling her tomorrow is a wash, that they both ate some bad fish or something…and damn, what the fuck was that? Martin is now working on the lobe of Douglas’ ear and he is pretty sure the _no one_ has ever done that with their tongue before.

“Bedroom, Captain?” Douglas manages to get out in between Martin changing sides. Their six and one half inches in height difference certainly are no problem right now.

Martin surprises Douglas even more when his voice drops an entire octave, “I’ve been waiting to hear you say that all night.”

Once again Douglas finds himself fighting an impulse that seems to come out of nowhere: he does a quick calculation in his head and figures that he could easily carry Martin the fifteen or so steps to the bedroom, especially the way Martin’s legs are locked around his hips. Still uncertain, he waits until they stop again for oxygen and takes his hands from around the captain.

“Right down the hall, sir.” Douglas purrs.

Martin composes himself in a split second and dismounts Douglas’ lap. Douglas is pretty sure that is one of the most graceful things he’s ever seen Martin do; he does not get to spend much time thinking about it, however, because Martin is unbuckling his belt as he walks and the weight of the supple leather is pushing his trousers to hang loose around undulating hips. He steps into the bedroom and pulls his uniform shirt out and it completely breaks Douglas’ concentration.

Before Martin can latch onto him again, Douglas needs to use the loo. “Make yourself comfortable, Captain. I’ll just be a minute.” He says as he makes a bit of space between them.

When Douglas returns to his bedroom, he is met with a breathtaking sight. Martin is shirtless now but still wearing his dangerously low trousers. They are no longer concealing the fact that he has nothing on underneath, which is somehow incongruent with the crisply ironed lines down the legs but somehow incredibly sexy at the same time. The captain is facing the window; the sherbet-colored sunset has painted his buttermilk skin with pastel hues. From where Douglas stands, Martin’s hair is a halo of fire.

There is something else, though, that completely blows what parts of Douglas’ mind are still intact from their intense kissing session and still reeling from this new side of Martin he’s never before experienced. The captain’s back is decorated with ink from the tops of his shoulders to his waistline.

As he gets closer, he can see that Martin’s tattoo is a phoenix with outstretched wings. The bird’s body, outlined in black, runs down his spine, stopping just above where the waist of his trousers rests. Its head, drawn in profile, is thrown back, beak wide open; the artist went full out, even giving the bird a jade green eye. The colors of its plumage match Martin’s hair with startling clarity: a mix of bright orange, darker copper, scarlet, and even shades of auburn.

Douglas reaches out slowly and stops with his right palm scant inches from actually touching. Martin turns so that his profile is visible in the dying light of the sunset and for a second, all of those colors mesh together and Douglas feels himself fall.

“Go ahead.” Martin says softly.

Douglas lays his open hand against one of Martin’s shoulder blades, feeling the way the masterpiece is slightly ridged. The captain shivers slightly and hisses between his teeth.

Douglas swallows reflexively. “This is not…” he starts. The tension in the room completely swallows _what I expected_.

Martin smirks and very slowly winks. “I know.”

Permission granted, Douglas has to touch the design with both hands, tracing the way the fiery wings arch upward until the tips of the flight feathers end where they cannot be seen, even if Martin were to wear a wide-necked shirt.

“When?” Douglas is finding it hard to speak as his fingers enjoy the way the lean, hard muscle beneath the tattoo flex and bunch as Martin alternately leans into and then out of the first officer’s touch.

“God, Douglas,” Martin breathes.

In reply, Douglas splays his fingers and the sight of his hands almost spanning Martin’s back turns him on so fiercely that he pulls Martin closer by his slim hips. The sound the captain makes as Douglas runs his fingers along the open waistband of his trousers is positively eloquent erotic _poetry_ , so Douglas decides he needs to taste the skin of Martin’s neck. With the first swipe of tongue, Martin growls, moans and rolls his hips backward at the same time and Douglas’ brain goes completely offline.

Then Douglas finds himself on his back in his bed, quickly giving up trying to figure out how he got from Point A to Point B so fast. Martin is balanced over him, hands placed on either side of Douglas’ head and kissing him as if the first officer’s mouth contains the last of the oxygen in the universe.

Douglas finds that he is perfectly okay with that.

He also finds that he is completely naked.

How the hell did that happen?

More importantly, _how_ did Douglas miss it all?

At this point none of that really matters because Douglas’ hands seem to be working on autopilot and he is stunned to find that he is shoving Martin’s trousers down over his ass and grabbing one perfectly-shaped buttock in each hand. Martin groans again when Douglas pulls him forward so that their stiff and leaking cocks are rubbing against each other.

Now it is Douglas’ turn to arch upward into the friction and grasp both of their erections with one hand. Martin’s thighs tighten against Douglas’ hips and his close. The first officer has to fight off his fast-approaching orgasm when Martin’s head rolls back and he makes a low humming sound of pleasure in the back of his throat. Douglas slows his hand until he is jerking them with long strokes.

“God Douglas.”

Douglas comes hard enough that he is unable to process anything for a full five minutes. The next thing he realizes is that he is alone. Oh no. Not like this. He pushes up off the bed and grabs his hunter green dressing gown off the back of the bedroom door.

“Martin?” It is completely dark now. Douglas can make out the sound of breathing from the sitting room.

Martin is curled up at the end of the couch, legs folded beneath him. He has put his shirt back on but it hangs open over his chest. He watches Douglas as the older man enters the room, his eyes intense and an expression Douglas cannot define on his face.

Douglas wants to say so many things, including _That was amazing_ and _Why didn’t you ever just tell me?_ However, when he does speak, he says, “Uh.” _Way to go, Richardson. Splendid._

Martin frowns up at him and bites at his bottom lip. Douglas shakes his head, trying hard to get his thoughts in order. Finally he just sits down next to Martin and puts his arm around the captain’s shoulders, not giving him any choice but to be hauled in closer. Martin sighs.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Douglas chuckles.

“I’ve just…well. I’ve been alone for so long…and. Well.” Martin starts.

“Martin, listen, because I am only going to say this once.” Douglas states then counts to five in his head. When nothing more from the captain is forthcoming, Douglas continues. “You are by no means a weak man, but, really, do you think you could force _me_ into anything I didn’t want to do?”

Martin shifts against Douglas’ side and doesn’t say anything. The cacophony of that silence is an overwhelming statement.

Douglas laughs this time, unable to contain the joy of whatever _this_ is any longer. “Martin, if you will have me, you’ll not have to be alone the rest of your life.”

This time, Martin does turn around and when their eyes meet he surges forward. Douglas stops him by bringing both hands up to cup the sides of Martin’s face; he watches sea green eyes change from intense to questioning.

“Martin, this time I really need you to say something.” Douglas needs to _know_. After all the dancing around, the flirting and the stumbling, he has found some rare jewel that he never knew was his simply for the taking.

“Yes, Douglas?” Douglas understands.

“Yes, Martin.” He gently tugs and Martin leans into him now and this time their kiss is just as passionate but oh, so much sweeter.


End file.
